


different enemies, same dangers

by Belfire



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brotherly Angst, Child Abandonment, Daryl Dixon Needs a Hug, Dixon brothers arguing, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, I will go down with Caryl, Merle Dixon Being Merle Dixon, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Will Dixon Being an Asshole, zombies aren't the only monster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28246506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belfire/pseuds/Belfire
Summary: AU where Merle doesn't die, Daryl is with him, Carol remains in exile from the prison and she encounters an old man called Will, who seems familiar somehow. Come to find out, he's no other than Will Dixon, father to Daryl and Merle.He wants to make amends, specifically with his youngest. He feels different, nicer, kinder, gentler, and while Daryl doesn't embrace it, part of him wants to believe this is real. People can change, can't they?But Carol isn't quite so sure about this.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & Merle Dixon, Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Comments: 13
Kudos: 35





	1. assist and survive

It was a funny thing, how no one could boundlessly stay on their feet and run, or fight. Sure, some could last longer than others, a  _ lot _ longer. But no one could do it forever, the universal fine print on the contract of being human. And all the same, the impending threat of a violent and painful death triggered the ability to run marathons when you hadn’t been able to the day before.

Too bad adrenaline could only be triggered under certain circumstances, it could sure help to get a lot done, a lot faster. Cooking, cleaning, taxes, not that any of that shit mattered anymore. The roar of adrenaline coupled with a mad dash away from mortality quickly became a significantly more common feeling than ease and relax. Although, the argument could be made that Daryl spent the entirety of his childhood feeling threatened, so the new world order didn’t feel that new. 

Different enemies, same danger.

Kill or be killed, at its most simplistic. 

Being riveted on survival mode, emotions and unnecessary thoughts locked out… he had the good fortune to not have to learn that mindstate, unlike the majority of the people he’d met along this journey. Probably why he yet drew breath and they didn’t.

When the virus hit, he’d already known how to fight, how to hunt, how to rough it in the forest for as long as he needed to, nothing was so new that it caused whiplash, and it certainly didn’t hurt that his big brother was alive to guard his six. 

“On your left!” The man in question yelled, throwing a glance in the same movement that he wrenched his barbed metal arm from the rotting head of a hungry walker. Daryl hadn’t seen or heard the decaying body coming for him, he ducked the lunge, mere seconds to spare, and sent it crashing to the ground with a smack from his crossbow. For safe measures, he smashed his heel into the soup-like brains left in that skull, the whole mess splattering up his leg but there was no time for a grimace. 

“Thanks, man.” Daryl grit through his teeth. Almost immediately, he was provided with the opportunity to return the favour when a freshly dead corpse loomed over his brother, his brother who was locked in combat with another three rotters, unable to tear himself away to direct his attention elsewhere. Understandable, they were utterly  _ swarmed _ out here and cornered on a rooftop, as if things weren’t bad enough. Tens of bodies, all dead and all hungry, coming at them as if fresh off a conveyor belt - and there was nowhere to run.

He felt himself physically wince when firing his final arrow to save his sibling’s life. The arrow plunged into the walker’s face, perfectly even in the centre of it, a tribute to Daryl’s excellence in marksmanship but he didn’t stop to appreciate the shot, not since that had been the last of his ammo and they were  _ truly _ fucked now.

And Merle didn’t thank him when the body fell, he probably didn’t even notice he was in danger since that same danger was coming from every other direction too. He beat the walkers back, punching and kicking, swinging the metal extension of his arm into the masses while simultaneously being pushed closer and closer to a ten storey drop. If they had to find something positive in the current situation, it would be that the edge of the roof protected them from behind. Most every fight until now had taken place back-to-back and that meant there would be some restrictions of mobility.

The grunts, smacks of flesh on flesh, bones breaking and blood splattering, it all made for an impressively deafening orchestra of sound but Daryl’s keen ear managed to catch metal and wood creaking and straining to hold. His eyes immediately darted to the ground beneath them and saw how it was beginning to bow inward under the walkers’ feet, incapable of supporting this much weight on its decrepit supports. It trembled and shook. It was about to give.

_“Merle,_ the floor-!” Daryl barely got that out of his mouth when a tremendous crash tore towards them from the centre of the roof. Before their eyes, the sea of walkers started falling violently backwards into a rapidly expanding pit, swallowing them up the same as it did the ground they stood on. The caving-in roof headed straight brothers and only ten seconds would decide their fate. 

_ “Run!” _ Merle shoved Daryl towards the edge and without question or doubt, he ran in that direction, his brother on his heels while the growing pit ate away their former footing and greedily tried taking them too. The edge of the roof came quick and where were they supposed to go from there? It was a sheer drop, no fire-escape or prominent windowsills to climb down. 

Daryl crashed to a halt, head darting to and fro in the frantic search for a lifeline but Merle had an idea forming when he realised they couldn’t go this way. He grabbed the back of Daryl’s vest by a fistful of angel wings, quite unceremoniously throwing them both sharply to the left, towards the door they’d come from originally - only it was on the other side of the roof. The Dixon brothers bolted across ground that crumbled beneath their steps, each one sinking into the shaking building’s ever-growing mouth. Walkers howled and snarled when they toppled backwards into unknown fate but whether or not they minutely understood what was happening was unlikely. 

The Dixons weren’t so lucky not to recognise the danger they were in, they ran against the wind and gravity trying to take them down, doing the most they could to avoid the pit and walkers that hadn’t yet fallen into it. Keeping to the edge meant that a single misstep on such unsteady footing would send them plummeting either into a mass of walkers or straight off the sheer building, onto the street below.

Daryl was ahead of Merle, crossbow slung over his shoulder and swinging from side to side to his motion, and he kept having to shove his bangs out of his eyes so he could see anything in front of him. He barely noticed the rotter come charging for him, decaying teeth snapping and loose, long fingernails clutching his clothes.

“Fuck-!” Daryl exclaimed, putting his arms out to grab the revolting creature and hold it away before it could fully be upon him. They wrestled for about two seconds before he managed to use its strength against it, twirl it around on its own momentum and shove its shrieking body off the roof. 

There was no exchange of words between siblings in the mad attempt to save the last seconds of their life to continue it. They fought back the walkers that got in their way and made it to the door just barely, throwing glances over their shoulders to the cave-in consuming everything behind them - which meant those walkers were now in the building beneath them.

Merle slammed the door behind them once they were in the stairwell, dropping the bar into place, and right when he was done, he turned his attention to his sibling, panting heavily on the landing.

“You bit, little brother?  _ Scratched?”  _ Merle demanded, meeting Daryl where he stood and checking his arms for raw-red marks. He held his wrist against his palm and examined the length of his arm but couldn’t see any new cuts in the mess of old ones, only bruises, scrapes, and aged scars.

“I’m fine, man.” Daryl replied, his already unusually gravelly voice made hoarser by breathlessness. He pushed his brother's hands away and stared down the several flights of stairs leading to darkness. His muscles shook from strain, his body yearned for rest but he gave a deep, shaky puff of breath and began heading to the lowest floor. Outside, he could still hear the dead and concrete crumbling, so the danger certainly wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot. 

They’d been fighting for their lives for hours now and Daryl was exhausted before they got into this mess, his eye bags qualified as luggage at this point. To his count, the last time he slept was eighty-four hours ago. Unsurprisingly, an apocalypse was no living luxury to go through. He barely had enough get-up-and-go in him to hold his body upright. And in his burdened movement, it showed. He laboriously used the bannister at the end of the handrail to rotate himself around to the next set of steps.

“You seemed a little faint up there, Darylina. Forget to take your pill this morning?” Grinning, Merle remarked, reverting to old ways now that they were momentarily safe, but Daryl ignored his comment, taking the stairs three at a time so they could get out of this place at some point today. The door locked behind them, walkers pounded on the other side and god knows what floor that horde fell into, but they couldn't be far away. Probably just one level from them. 

“Do I need to find you some ice tea and a face mask so you can recover from a man’s work there, princess?” Merle continued like the absolute cunt that he was. But Daryl didn’t take it skin deep, his brother was just this way whenever he could be. It was like a compulsion or something, he couldn’t help it. It was miserable to consider that he was Daryl’s least terrible family member if they had to be ranked. And there wasn’t even any competition, which made it all the more miserable.

When Daryl didn’t respond or humour him with so much as a sharp look, Merle knew something was up with him. What was likeliest was that he was merely tired and it went no further than that, but worries rested heavily on his heart whenever his little brother was involved. Not that Merle could ever let that show, it was the first step in the short jog to death. 

In this apocalypse more than ever, they needed to be stronger than the rest. Their father made them both strong, now it was up to Merle to keep them that way. Daryl, if left on his own, would not survive long. He was soft. 

“Think we can get out through here,” Daryl murmured, coming to a landing that supported a door they both hoped would lead outside. He extended his arm to turn the handle and push the door back - swinging it open on a wall of walkers. These were not the same ones as before, they were idling in the hallway like sardines squeezed into a can. That is to say, they were aimlessly snarling at walls until they heard hinges creaking and smelled sweat, heat, and the  _ delicious _ soft scent of living meat. Each of their heads rotated to face the arrival of their meals.

Daryl slammed the door to the frame again but the walkers were already on it, pushing against his efforts from the other side, hungry noises emanating from behind it. He grunted and his feet slid across the floor, he slammed his shoulder into the wood but struggled for any footing with which to hold it.

_ “Boy, _ I could clop you around the head!” Merle yelled, throwing the bulk of his weight into the door the rotters reached around. Broken and grey-skinned hands scratched at the wood, fingernails pulling free and remaining on the surface of it. The brothers struggled to gain any way towards putting something between themselves and death, Daryl barely managed to set the latch and they were running again, practically leaping to cover as much distance as possible.

“That door’s not long for this world-” Merle observed, pounding down the staircase, right as the said door exploded inward and the dead poured into the hallway. They took only a heartbeat to narrow down on the direction of the sound and they were after them, though fortunately, the stairs proved an obstacle for them to overcome. But that wasn’t fortunate for long, not since walkers were a lot easier to outrun when they were  _ walking _ and not tumbling down an incline.

Daryl’s mind raced at a speed matching that of his body’s, he rapidly searched for a way out. All he could hear was snarls and hisses, the weight of tens of corpses falling meters behind him, and then he heard Merle shout out curses. From the corner of his peripheral, Daryl caught a glimpse of his brother slamming to the ground in the wake of a walker toppling into his legs. He went down like a led balloon. He crashed to the ground so hard it surely shook, onto his arms which he barely managed to put out to catch himself. A grunt was muffled by his teeth clamping shut, damaged by years of meth abuse, and Daryl was fairly sure at least one chipped from that impact. 

The rotters wasted no time in crawling atop Merle’s struggling body but Daryl didn’t waste any either, violently smashing the butt of his crossbow into those vile, snapping faces and their rotten mouths. He couldn’t let them take his brother, no matter how much of a jackass he was. He swung the weapon in and away in a continuous motion, blood and grey matter splattering across him but he wouldn’t retreat, determined to leave this place alongside his brother. 

An open maw shot for Merle’s throat, he caught the creature’s head on the blade of his arm and threw it off to the side as far as he could. With Daryl’s help, he was able to get enough weight off himself to pull away from the sea of arms reaching in his direction. His little brother caught his bicep, both hands around it, and dragged him back to his feet.

“Let’s go, man!” Daryl yelled, wild hair splayed all over his face yet unable to hide the sense of urgency in his eyes. He didn’t need to be told twice, Merle raced after Daryl at a speed neither knew they could achieve while so tired already, but it all came down to adrenaline again. The collective blast of it in their heads swelled their blood veins to the point of pain, it was the pounding they’d felt countless nights before the apocalypse was a grain on the horizon. 

At the bottom of the next flight they cannonballed to, there was finally a door they could see clearly lead outside, onto a fire-escape they could use to get to ground level.

“Come on!” Daryl shattered the glass with his crossbow, shoving his arm through the break faster than the shards could land. He was vaguely aware of the jagged piece protruding from the frame as it punctured his skin but in the hurry to clear enough way to get through, he didn’t care. The howling of the walkers behind them completely disabled his pain receptors, he may have cut himself in more places than one, judging by the rapid drip-dropping on the grated-stairs they were soon running down. 

This time, they had a headstart on escaping their fate; those rotters couldn’t fit through the shattered window as fast as they’d like to be able to and the brothers were shutting themselves into their stolen car and hightailing it out of there by the time a quarter of them was out.

The heaviness of their breathing almost drowned out the roar of the engine, each breath a harsh, strained burst of hot air. Merle was behind the wheel, his arms shaking from exhaustion. Sweat rolled from his brow and slicked his greying hair to his scalp, he could feel the heat radiating off his skin like a furnace was inbuilt. His foot on the accelerator was horizontal against the floor, buildings and streets zipped by in the window and the road stretched on ahead, but Daryl once again became the forefront of his concerns.

“You good? Saw you get nicked back there.” He asked. Blood trickled down his baby brother’s arms, his muscles and his skin, the red contrasting painfully against the dark tan and dirt acquired over weeks in the forest. But his wounds couldn't matter less to Daryl, he picked and chewed on his nails like he’d been doing since he grew teeth. Over years, it developed from a nervous habit to an idle compulsion.

“What do you care?” He mumbled, finding more interest in a hangnail than meeting Merle’s line of sight. 

Clicking his tongue, Merle rolled his eyes then returned them to what was in front of him. He wouldn't waste his concern if it wasn't appreciated.

“Being a little bitch ever get tiring or is this snug for you, princess?” 

Sighing softly, Daryl turned to look out of the window, chin resting on the palm of his hand. His body stung from his various cuts and abrasions but there was nothing to be done about them now, not until they returned to camp. He was lethargic, hungry, and bleeding all over his clothes. His discomfort kept him shifting his position frequently and soon, he garnered an irritated scoff from his lovely brother. 

They didn't speak though.

By chance, Daryl saw his reflection in the window and lingered on how messy his hair was, and how long it had become, almost touching his shoulders. It tickled his sweat-soaked neck and stuck to his skin. Dark circles only enunciated the sunken-in state of his eyes, which were dull and lifeless. He’d lost more weight in his face, his chapped lips ran raw with cracks that complimented his heavy bruising. 

And he looked only half as tired as he felt.

* * *

Numbness iced Carol’s heart like a finely glazed cake. The sensation had been creeping long before this whole mess began, ever since she, Ed, and Sophia lived in their comfortable suburban home on Oakway. Only then it hadn’t been so strong that she couldn’t feel anything outside of it, she remembered fear, anger, the feeling moments of joy, but now? Only ice. The monotonous rhythm of wake up, struggle to survive, sleep, repeat wasn’t so hard to fall into when she was already doing it before anything was wrong in the world.

Maybe that was for the best, it certainly helped her stay on her feet after Rick exiled her. She wasn’t angry at him for that, she understood why he’d had to. The only thing she regretted, however, was not being able to say goodbye to Daryl, not that he would have allowed her to go alone if he’d known ahead of time.

She hoped he was alright. And that he was safe somewhere, kept safe by that gross brother of his. Merle was a true piece-of-shit but she believed he truly cared about his little brother, if in his own way.

Her mind was occupied by all kinds of nonsensical things today. She knew she shouldn’t be out by dark but she didn’t find herself caring while she meandered the outskirts of a large city she didn’t know the name of. It was another city just like any other, its name didn’t matter and wouldn’t be remembered two decades from now. Slowly but surely, the old world was being forgotten and the new one belonged to the dead. 

She walked by herself, lost in her thoughts, until she was abruptly dragged from them by the round of riled up walkers and a voice. A  _ human _ voice, sounding almost alien when she hadn’t heard one in a fair bit of time.

“Get fucked you dead, motherless cunts!” The voice was angry, distinctly Southern, and  _ cornered _ . Carol saw an old man, he was driven by masses of stumbling corpses into a building wall. His back was nearly pressed flat to the alley’s dead end, piles of walkers laying in the mess the old man had made of their heads. The hatchet in his hand sang back and forth through as many skulls as came within its reach, the aged state of its bearer dulling its brutality by none. He had to be at least Hershell’s age but nothing about the way he fought gave it away, he swung powerful attacks and held his ground admirably, yet he was still fighting an upward-hill battle. 

Carol could tell he was tired and couldn’t keep this up much longer, she hadn’t made up her mind whether or not she was going to step in when a walker smelled her. The scent of warm blood and living muscle was incredibly potent to these things, it spun around with the definite certainty that she wasn't far. It started a hurried, desperate stumble towards her, along with another few of its pack mates.

_ Fuck,  _ she thought. But she immediately jumped to action, no longer incapable of defending herself. She wasn't a shy, meek mouse of a woman anymore, she was a lioness and she would  _ kill _ before she was killed. 

The coldness of her fingers through her trench knife felt as familiar as the handle of a skillet from her own kitchen. She drove it into the walker’s head and stabbed the other before the first one dropped, attracting the rest of them while she was at it. The old man was clearly surprised she was there,  _ shocked _ , even, but he didn’t freeze from this turn of events and quickly kept fighting.

Between the two of them, they were able to take down their enemies in what felt like a heartbeat. The bodies dropped like flies, their teamwork was quite the formidable barrier between their life and potential death. 

Finishing off the last walker, Carol wiped her blade clean, her breathing unsteady but no more so than if she'd taken a pleasant jog around her neighbourhood.

She heard the strange man approaching her and turned to look at him warily, her posture tense with caution. When he came closer, she could make out his features more precisely. Considering how old she assumed he must be, he'd aged gracefully, although alcohol redness sprung out across his cheeks and his teeth made her believe his genetics were either incredibly poor or he’d spent a considerable portion of his life abusing drugs. The fact that his eyes were blue wasn’t unusual in the least, but they looked eerily familiar. 

She was certain that she had seen them before.

“Thanks for your help there, darlin’.” A kind smile deepened the wrinkles around those familiar eyes when he extended his hand. “I’m Will.”


	2. bleak

“I’m Will.” When introducing himself, he smiled, as was customary before everything became about survival. It was then that Carol realised she couldn’t remember the last time she’d experienced such simple courtesy from a stranger. 

But that didn’t mean she trusted him.

Not even close.

Sceptically, she eyed him head to toe, holding her distance. She didn’t put her knife away, not since he still held onto his hatchet, its blade matted with brain, bone, blood and hair. The assortment of gore pitter-pattered steadily onto the floor, forming a distinct pattern of sounds. 

His eyes unsettled her to no end. She felt that something was missing from them, despite how familiarly they lingered on her. But by the quizzical expression upon his weathered face, it was obvious to her that this feeling wasn’t mutual. He had never seen her before and was wondering who she was.

“Carol.” She said after a considerable amount of time spent analysing him. She wasn’t sure why she told him her name, she wouldn’t usually, not a stranger. 

_“Carol.”_ Will repeated, as if sampling the name to see how he liked it. “You with a group? It’s tough to survive out here alone.”

She was aware that answering that question truthfully would reveal she was without a safety net, therefore vulnerable, but nothing in her cared. At all. If apathy could be a mistress, then she was one Carol had become closely acquainted with.

“No, I’m not with anybody.” She replied, her voice low and quiet. 

“You’ve survived this long by yourself?”

For a moment, her attention drifted towards the way she’d come, her thoughts forming at a crawl of a pace. She thought about Rick and his shaky grip on his people. She thought about Hershel and his kind, cool hand guiding those around him. About Glenn and Maggie finding each other amidst these atrocities. Carl remaining strong for Judith even after witnessing his mother’s death. And then she thought about Daryl. Not just one specific thing about him, but him in general. She hoped he wasn’t too torn up about her abrupt departure, not that he wouldn’t’ve had the time to get over it already.

“No… I used to have people but… I don’t anymore.”

Will sucked air through his teeth, shook his head, and raised it back to her.

“Yeah, that’s tough. People are dying all the time these days, it seems. I was with my family, brother and two boys, but we got separated. I don’t know where they are or if they’re alive.” 

Wearily, she nodded, not having any emotions or sympathy to spare for him. They’d all lost someone, most of them had lost everyone, it wasn’t tragic anymore. It was ordinary. 

“Tends to happen.” Carol dryly observed. “The best advice I can offer is to not get attached to anyone. If you love anyone, you’re just setting yourself up for heartbreak.” 

“That’s… bleak.” Will raised his brows, blowing his cheeks out. Droplets of blood across his face reeled Carol’s notice, she began to make out constellations in the drying red specs. She saw Aries and Capricorn, Libra and Leo, just the way Daryl had taught her to recognise them, in the event that she lost her surroundings and couldn’t recover them. It was a sweet gesture born from the early assumption that she’d get hopelessly lost.

On the other hand, considering the person she was when this all began, maybe that wasn’t a bad idea.

It probably wasn’t healthy, the random journeys her mind took to subjects that didn’t involve what she was currently experiencing. She tried to remember how he’d replied and anchored herself to it.

She shrugged. “It’s true.”

“Never said it wasn’t. It’s just… _bleak.”_ He finished his sentence by raising his hatchet and swinging it, Carol tensed until she realised he was just trying to flick the mess off it and not attack her. She could have taken him, of course, had she needed to, and she began to think that she might have to just to end this conversation. 

It’s not like she was out here, in the middle of the night, wandering the streets of a ghost city, because she wanted to talk to anyone. Especially not an unknown old man who thought she intentionally helped him. She hadn’t, clearly, but he might not know that.

Carol, if asked, couldn't tell her interrogator why she didn’t leave Will in favour of going her own way and continuing her inevitably short life. She simply didn’t, and watched in silence while he wiped his weapon clean on the grass and pretended like she wasn’t there at all. As he worked, she couldn’t help but notice the webbed white scars tracing the ridges of his knuckles, a testimony to several past fights that didn’t necessarily need to be picked. They appeared to predate the apocalypse.

Her late husband possessed similar marks on his hands, courtesy of the number of walls he put his fists through.

“Are you out here looking for your sons?” Carol inquired and she immediately regretted it. It had to be her motherly instincts taking the reins instead of her burning intentions to remain strangers with Will. 

“I _am.”_ He confirmed, straightening himself off the ground, hatchet in hand, now clean with a blade glistening for more blood. “And my brother, if I can find him - _half brother,_ that is.”

“What makes you think you’ll find them here? Or that they’re even alive?” She sounded cruel, she knew, the diminisher of hope among ignorant parents. However, it would be her pleasure to help this man come to terms faster. 

“They’re tough bastards. I doubt anything could kill ‘em unless they let it.” There was an air of pride in his announcement. He grinned with stars in his eyes, yet she could still see something wasn’t right in them. She couldn’t name it, it might not exist outside of her imagination, but it wasn’t going anywhere.

“Children are even less likely to survive than adults.” She bluntly went on, almost hellbent to convince Will that his family was dead.

“They ain’t kids and the ain’t pussies. My boys stand the best chance of not dying a pointless death.”

Carol hummed, nodding slowly. “Well, I hope you’re right.” She wiped her knife on her thigh and put it away into her sheath, starting past him while she did.

“Good luck.” She whispered. Behind her, she felt him turn his head to watch her go but he didn’t make a move or utter a word to stop her, maybe he could tell that she was done here. She’d already learned more about him than she cared to know. 

“You too, Carol,” Will said after her, raising an arm for a single wave goodbye. “See you around.” 

Carol intended they would never cross paths again and to avoid another encounter, she directed her way towards the forest, unsure how far she would go, but determined to be left completely and utterly alone.

There was almost no one left alive who she wanted to talk to.

* * *

“Daryl… _Oh, Daryl…”_ A sly smirk crept onto Merle’s face. Propped up against a fallen log, his little brother lay with his eyes fallen shut, hugging himself as he always did while resting. His arms held his torso loosely, a balm of willow tree and clay packed into the deepest of his cuts. The cool clay helped with swelling and bruises, the willow was nature’s aspirin. 

This fool would die of sepsis without his big brother’s superior guidance. 

Quietly lowering himself onto a knee, Merle hovered centimetres from Daryl. He’d visited the nearby creek to fill their bottles with water, only to return and find Daryl napping instead of keeping watch over the camp the way he was instructed to.

Couldn’t do anything without supervision, this one. 

Experimentatively, Merle blew into Daryl’s face but the soft brush of air only caused his features to tense slightly. When he didn’t wake up, Merle knew he would have to rely on extremer, less _kind_ measures to rouse this man. He uncapped a bottle of gritty, opaque water and dunked the entirety of its contents over Daryl’s head. 

“- Fuck’s the matter wit’ you _,_ man?!” Daryl jolted awake with that exclamation, immediately aware that this was Merle’s doing and not any kind of bizarre attack. He shot bolt upright and used both hands to wipe water from his vision while it descended in streams from the longest parts of his hair. His shirt was now drenched, a wet bib extending from his throat and darkening the material noticeably, fortunately there was no one here to notice.

“This ain’t no time to get your beauty sleep, princess.” Merle informed him, his crooked grin and the self-satisfied sparkle in his bluey-grey eyes enough to make Daryl ponder how he could drown this motherfucker in the nearest body of water. 

But Merle had thirty pounds on him, give or take, so for his crime to unravel successfully, he would have to plan it to a perfect ten. 

“Hell else is it time for then?” He asked, flicking water from his hands then placing his head in them, rubbing circles over his eyes with his palms. Good god, _tired_ seemed to be all he was these days, his entire being consisted of exhaustion, from the dirty clothes draped over his body to the white blood cells rushing through his veins to repair continuing damage. He couldn’t’ve been out for longer than ten minutes and Merle wouldn’t let him have as little. 

Patting Daryl’s shoulder heartily, his big brother rose to his feet, discarding the empty bottle somewhere over his shoulder, off into the campsite. He took a few steps further and turned to face his sibling again shortly thereafter, his remaining hand arched on his hip.

“Uncle Jess used to have a hunting shack ‘round these woods, didn’ he?” A sudden deep frown worsened the creases on Merle’s brow as something occurred to him. “You remember Uncle Jess, doncha, boy?” 

Now it was Daryl’s turn to frown, utterly puzzled. His fingers tightened on the foregrip of his crossbow, gifted to him several birthdays ago by the uncle in question. “We… were with ‘im when this happened.” 

Merle cocked his head, thoughtful. “Oh yeah… we were. Him and Will.” He waved his prosthetic limb to dismiss the topic. “Well, anyway, he used to go hunting in these woods and stay at ‘is shack, livin’ off the grid for months. Fella used to tell me he had a _beauty_ of an apocalypse shelter. Figure there’d be a shit load of supplies there, seeing as how he ne’er used it himself.”

Idly, Daryl picked a blueberry sprig and rolled it between his lips. “Assumin’ the damn thing ain’t been looted.” He murmured, then narrowly ducked an open-handed slap from Merle. He rolled onto all fours and bounded up, swinging his crossbow into line with his brother’s neck, finger threatening the trigger. 

“You best stop hittin’ me!” Snapping, a fearsome leer formed upon Daryl’s face, the effect of which was significantly brought down when he needed to flip his hair out of his eyes. Merle snickered and pushed the direction of the crossbow away from himself, completely unaffected by the threat of death. 

“You couldn't even hit puberty right, I doubt you could hit me if I stood still.” The chuckle of his amusement had been the most grating sound of Daryl’s life for over three decades and it never got any less painful. Lowering his weapon was the inevitability they both knew he would come to before he ever did anything to knock Merle a few pegs lower.

No, Merle was rooted where he stood and wouldn’t step down. Not ever.

Shouldering the crossbow with an exhale, Daryl held the strap of it in both hands while he shifted his position to lean on one leg to the other. “So your plan is that we hope we find Uncle Jess’ shack? An’ hope that no one found it before us?” 

Merle spread his arms apart, gesturing to the great amount of nothingness surrounding them. “You got anythin’ more interesting you’d like to be doin’ ri’ now?” 

_Sleeping,_ Daryl thought, though he didn’t say it aloud for the purpose of sparing himself a degrading, emasculating comment he’d undoubtedly hear anyway, regardless of his preventative measures. 

Grumbling, he collected their few things into packs and threw them over his shoulders, burdening himself with the full weight of their meagre supplies and equipment. Merle stopped helping him carry these the day he realised he could cash in the disability cheque on his prosthetic hand. Well, _prosthetic_ was quite a grand description, given how it wasn’t more than a knife welded to a fitted metal cast. 

Though it never bothered Merle if there wasn’t anything heavy to be carried. Daryl swore the man transformed into a quadruple amputee whenever a tedious task didn’t pique his interest. 

Daryl didn’t even put forth a motion for aid, once again lowering his head to the authority and going along with whatever Merle wanted to do. If this was anyone else, he wouldn’t be quite as succumbing but his big brother needed to have his power trips to maintain his ego.

The younger of the Dixons began to wonder if leaving the prison for Merle’s sake had been as terrible of an idea as he suspected. Giving anything up for this asshole never turned out to be worth his while. At the centrepiece of love was selflessness but at a certain point, it crossed over into self-sabotage. 

Times like this, he missed Carol. She, at least, would help him carry everything. He wondered if she was okay and wanted that to be true, she didn’t deserve anything bad happening to her. Odds weren’t in his favour but he hoped they’d see each other again.

He wasn’t quite sure what he’d say to her if he got another chance, he was never allowed to properly convey his feelings to her before their paths forcibly split. That’s not to say he recognised said feelings, he just knew they revolved around constantly being aware she wasn’t here.

“Whacha thinkin’ ‘bout, little brother?” Merle asked him, hoarse. Years of abusing booze, drugs, and a copious amount of smoking damaged his larynx, his voice always sounded raspy. Daryl couldn’t remember a time when it didn’t.

“Huh?” When raising his head to regard his sibling, he realised they’d been walking for quite a while and he’d been zoned out for the majority of it. They were deep in the Georgia forest, miles from their campsite, in terrain completely new to the Dixon brothers and Daryl couldn’t remember coming this far. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep on his feet, thinking about a little woman with delicate features and silver hair. 

“Oh - nothin’.” He replied, low, attempting to brush all thoughts of that woman from his mind so he could focus on things at hand, such as being able to tell where he was going and whatever his brother was saying to him.

Humming, Merle cocked his head and regarded Daryl with a knowing grin. “Would ask if it’s a dame, but I don’ think there’re any bangable ones left. The tight, skinny bitches died first, now they’re tight, _dead,_ decaying corpses with their racks rottin’ off. Maybe you could still fuck ‘em but you’d be riskin’ a nasty infection. Your dick might just fall off.” 

Disturbed but not at all shocked this was coming from _his_ sibling, Daryl eyed the man who would not be allowed to live freely in a functioning world. 

“That is _so_ wrong, Merle.” He sighed, chewing on the corner of his chapped bottom lip. What the hell was wrong with his family? The last living member and he wasn’t capable of as little as respecting the dead. 

“Nah it ain’t!” Playfully, Merle punched his arm and caused Daryl to sway off his path somewhat, adjusting his footing to maintain his balance. “Those dead sons-of-bitches don’ care if you fucked ‘em with a field of cacti. But you ain’t ever been that into girls, so don’ you worry that pretty head ‘bout ole Merle and ‘is doings.”

“I ain’t no homo. I just ain’t like you neither.” It felt like he’d been repeating that his entire childhood, that just because he wasn’t a raging misogynist and womanizer such as his lovely sibling, didn’t point to anything else either. True, he’d never had a girlfriend but he’d also never wanted one. It just didn’t feel like him. 

A concept that could never be explained to Merle.

“Hmm. If you say so, princess.” His smirk was unbearable, the teasing glitter in his eyes further so. He squeezed Daryl’s shoulder as if to say he meant no harm by it but Daryl wasn’t so naive to believe him. Merle’s compulsion to get under everyone’s skin was unbeatable by modern medication or high-end therapy. 

Perfect thing that Daryl didn’t care what he said. If words could hurt him, in the company of his blood, he’d be a dead man many times over. 

“So what were ya thinkin’ of?” Merle resumed, refusing to let it go. Daryl considered what to tell him, as anything too revealing would result in endless degradation. He doubted Merle remembered anything about Carol from the short while spent at the Atlanta camp, so there wasn’t any risk of him suspecting anything. 

“Just wonderin’ if Uncle Jess made it out is all.” He eventually managed to say, a sentence which garnered the first grim expression from Merle in weeks. They had conflicting opinions on their father but when it came to Uncle Jess, they were of a like mind. The man was beloved, even by Merle, who typically cared for no one.

How could he be anything but? He remembered their birthdays when their parents didn’t, brought toys and colouring books for them, and kept them from starving on those several occasions when their guardians were passed out drunk on the bathroom floor. That and countless other gestures of simple decency. They spent many weeks throughout the years in Uncle Jess’ company, either learning the ways of the forest or simply hanging out. He was more of a father figure than their genetic donor, so to say his probable death hurt them would be an understatement. 

“He’s a’ight, little brother.” Merle insisted rather forcefully, growing his smile again for both his and Daryl’s comfort concerning this. It was unspoken that likely, that wasn’t the case and their uncle was as dead as a doornail, but denial could be a sweet thing of solace.

“Ain’t nothin’ an’ no one strong enough to take out that bastard if he don’ let ‘em.” 

“Yeah.” Daryl murmured, fixing his attention back upon the overgrown path ahead. “I hope so.” He wanted that for a lot of people he hadn’t seen for a while. Except for that very certain person.

“Hope Will’s bit the bullet though.” 

_“Daryl,_ don’t say that.” Merle scolded him, his smile once again dissipating. His disapproval was rare but always activated on this topic. “He ain’t much but you best respect your damn father.”

“He was an abuser and a _drunk,_ he weren’t no dad. Least not one I claim.” Daryl retorted, irritated that his brother would dare suggest that man deserved as much as his respect. 

“He gave your ungrateful ass life, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, well, it ain’t for lack of tryin’ that he didn’t taken it back.” 

“Now that sounds like a whole lot of dramatic _bullshit.”_

“You was in juvie most of the time, you don’ know what he was like when you was gone.” It was astounding how Merle was either in denial about their father or he didn’t see anything wrong with his treatment of them. Considering the person he was, it wouldn’t be that much of a stretch to say he approved of Will’s parenting technique, but Daryl couldn’t understand the mental gymnastics it took to justify beating and starving a helpless child. Not to mention everything else that despicable piece-of-shit did to them.

A pissy huff was what greeted Daryl’s response, followed by an eye roll so deliberate that there wasn’t a chance Merle didn’t mean for him to see it. 

“You weren’t never there, Merle, you don’t get to tell me I’m wrong for not wanting that damn _person_ to be alive.” Daryl went on, letting his brother know just how badly he’d been ticked off. He was slow to anger, usually his patience could run a marathon, but this was one topic where he couldn’t contain his bubbling fury. They tended to avoid discussing Will for this reason exactly, they would never agree on him.

He was a horrible human being, Merle just didn’t see it that way.

“You could’ve left the house just as easy as I did, little brother, no one made you stay there.” The venom reacted quickly to their topic and commanded the tone of Merle’s voice, who got pissed off by this just as easily as Daryl was. Will was the only subject where Daryl held his ground against his brother, which Merle had to hate.

“Mom needed someone to take care of her!” Daryl snapped, raising his voice fully above his usual mumble. He went as far as to direct his eyes to meet Merle’s, also not something he normally spent his energy on. “She was always drunk or high, she couldn’ do nothing!” 

“Didn’ see you ditchin’ after she died, sure that’s the reason?” The defensiveness Merle took on, Daryl had to believe it was born of the unspoken knowledge that he had no grounds to defend Will on, no good enough excuse for him. 

“I was _eight-years-old_ when she died. Hell was I supposed to do, huh? Go out and earn wages?” Daryl could feel his blood pressure rising against the walls of his veins, one might burst if he couldn’t de-escalate this situation soon, but why did it always have to be him who did it? Couldn’t Merle just once be the person who let it go and backed off? No, he couldn’t, because he was mentally disturbed. 

“Could try not being such a bitch an’ maybe dad wouldn’t’ve had to hit you so hard. How’s it his fault that you pissed him off so bad? You being such a little fag’s why you needed dad to give you some _behavioural therapy.”_

Merle struck a wrong chord so hard that the twang must have been audible for miles. Hesitation was lacking in Daryl when he dropped the packs and his crossbow carelessly in favour of tackling his brother, bringing both arms around him and throwing them lengthwise across the forest floor. 

The younger of the Dixons had his sibling against the ground, restraining him with his legs to clear his face for the crash of his knuckles against it. He slammed a punch without holding back, satisfied by the burst of blood but not yet fully content, figuring a few more blows would do it. 

But family or no, Merle couldn’t keep himself from partaking in a fight despite who his opponent may be. Managing to yank his right arm free, he ruthlessly smacked the metal into the side of Daryl’s head, scarcely caring how hard he did it. 

Daryl wasn’t pulling his punches, Merle didn’t see why he should either. And predictably, he sent his little brother crashing off him, giving himself time to rise to his feet while Daryl picked himself up. Daryl's grimace was heavy, his hand threaded through his hair, over the aching spot on his skull. 

“Boy, you’re gon’ be _real_ sorry for that.” Wiping a trail of blood from his mouth, Merle strode up to Daryl, slumped onto all fours, and courtesy of that position was easily able to deliver a sharp kick to his little brother's stomach. Daryl tumbled across the ground, eliciting a gasp that was more surprise than pain. What, he didn’t think Merle would hurt him? After he got physical first? 

He was gonna beat the shit out of his sibling and by the glare Daryl revealed when lifting his head, his intentions were exactly the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had a great Christmas!


	3. olive oyl

  
  


“- You’re _such_ an asshole!” Panting, his nose and lip bleeding, Daryl threw the entirety of his weight at Merle, only to have his fist enveloped and not be released. Straining, he pushed against his brother with all his strength, wrapping his fingers around the metal stump of his wrist. His arms shook from the effort, as did Merle’s, but neither was willing to back down. 

They’d been at this for a while already, maybe as long as thirty minutes, and though both were puffed, they weren’t feeling any less indignant. 

“You ain’t much in the ways of a picnic neither, you _brat.”_ Merle breathed heavily, streams of sweat rolling from his brow. No one was winning, both tired out to a point where a worthwhile success was unlikely. While their fight appeared brutish - and in all measures, _it wa_ s - they had a pre-existing set of rules established; _no weapons._ A mutual agreement settled upon years ago, knives, guns, bats, rocks, broken bottles, shoelaces, _crossbows,_ etc, all out of the question. There was even a safe word, _‘Olive Oyl’,_ but they would literally die before appealing to the other’s mercy.

In regards to the knife welded to the end of Merle’s hand, he took great precautions to keep it from contacting his brother’s skin, as per the rules, but the brutality of his punches more than made up for it. 

His little brother may not be seeing out of his swollen left eye for a while.

But Daryl was no innocent, long-suffering victim here. He’d made a mess of Merle’s face and his brother’s retribution was the fistful of hair now missing from Daryl’s head, the long dark strands still wrapped around Merle’s fingers. 

It always went like this. They fought for blood, then they fought pettily. Anything they could do to hurt the other would be done. Scratching and biting weren’t off the board. Somewhere along the lines, fighting like adults was forgotten and whatever they could think of was fair game. 

“Least _I_ didn’ cut my damn hand off.” Daryl grit, digging his heels into the soft dirt to hold his ground when he felt his feet begin to slide. Relying on every atom of his strength, Merle fought his hardest to hold him off, the smallest and the biggest muscles in his body giving everything to be an equal opponent.

_Holy Jesus,_ his little brother turned so strong at some point and Merle didn’t remember when.

“Least _I_ didn’ amigo up to no damn _pig.”_

“His _name_ is _Rick!_ An’ he ain’t no usual pig!” 

“‘Cause he made your homo heart go _boom-fucking-boom?”_

Enraged, Daryl tried to bite his face. Just lunged and snapped his teeth inches from Merle’s cheek, and he may have been successful in his attack, had his brother not thrown them harshly to one side, resulting in them crashing to the ground.

The thud ran like a bell toll through their chests, the sudden impact against the forest floor enough to break them apart momentarily, but as life itself, that second of release was fleeting. 

Scrambling onto his fours, Daryl seized the chance to get two handfuls of his sibling’s throat and squeeze _vehemently,_ like it was his sincerest pleasure to feel Merle’s racing, heavy pulse against his palms when he forced his windpipe to close in on itself. Too bad for him, Merle’s single remaining hand was big enough to fit around Daryl’s neck, cupping his trachea and leaving contusions to frame the ridge of his spine. 

So they were choking each other, ignoring the lightheadedness and blurring vision they were unanimously causing and experiencing at once. Thick blue veins stuck out of Daryl’s quivering arms, traced his skin to his face, where his wild eyes took the concentration, resembling the stare of a feral dog.

He was aware he looked crazier than Merle at this present moment, his unkempt, unruly hair impaling the air in all conceivable directions like a crown of thorns upon his head. A mixture of blood both old and new, clay and mud, as well as twigs and dirt stuck to his skin and clothes as if he was mid-process into making a DIY ghillie suit. His accidental camouflage made him nearly invisible against the forest.

“This - _this_ is why dad hates you!” Merle spat in his face, distracting him enough to be able to get the upper hand. He shoved Daryl away and dove to get on top of him, pinning his body against the ground and looping an arm around his throat. 

“You fight like a damn broad!” Daryl choked, the leer in his strained voice evident. Baring his teeth, Merle squeezed the V of his arm tighter, willing this damned idiot to give him any excuse to seriously hurt him. Behaviour like this had to be why their father never saw Daryl fondly.

“Like _you’d_ know what a woman’s touch feels like.” Merle bit, pushing his knee into the small of his brother’s back, his foot clamped over Daryl’s wrist, the soles of his boot reddening the dirt-streaked flesh beneath it. With all his remaining limbs tied up in use, he didn’t catch Daryl’s fingers tearing a clump of soil free and hurling it into Merle’s face, blinding him. The second he blinked, he could feel the grit on the surface of his eyes, grinding into the gelatin-soft organs and getting caught between that and his lids. 

Stumbling off Daryl, Merle rapidly pawed at his eyes, cursing his sibling in all manner of improprieties. 

“ - You little, good-for-nothing, _worthless-”_

His words were cut short by the sudden force of Daryl’s arms locking around him and the sensation of being forced onto the ground again. He expected the rapid pounding of angry, irate knuckles, but instead he got Daryl, feebly raising his fist, then being unable to put the appropriate force behind the blow.

He got a few weak punches in and then it was as if, all at once, the bone-deep exhaustion hit and Daryl sort of… slumped over. And with Merle equally depleted, he did nothing to resurrect their fight, he let his younger sibling stay there with his face smushed against his shoulder. Puffing, heat pouring off him, Merle wiped sweat and grit from his eyes in the same movement as he petted Daryl’s shoulder blade, to no response. 

Things usually simmered down once both parties turned in the white flag of exhaustion. 

Several minutes went by without them moving or communicating, until Daryl gathered the strength to push himself off his brother - he keeled over onto his back like a helpless beetle. He stayed there, willing for his throat to quit constricting after the many times hands were around it. And for everything else to go numb too, starting from his skull and ending where he did. 

The sounds of their jagged breathing filled the clearing, sure to be heard by anything passing by, be it living or dead. Caring was a luxury reserved for people less worn out.

“... _Fuck you,_ little brother.” Merle wheezed, blinking back dirt while he reached over to ruffle Daryl’s hair. After that modest gesture, his arm fell heavily beside him.

“Yeah, you too.” Daryl swallowed away the dryness in his mouth, tentatively dabbing the tip of his tongue on the lesion splitting his lip.

He hurt in so many places that he wouldn’t know where to begin pulling himself back together, he could feel bruises forming as deep as his bones. On a superficial level, this hadn’t helped one bit, not with anything, but the therapeutic aspect of it was undeniable. It sure felt good to unleash everything on someone you could trust wasn’t going to take it that single blow past the moment of no return.

Since Daryl had been able to make a fist, this was how they’d solved their problems. It couldn’t be argued at this point, violence flowed through their blood like poison, infecting every cell and scenario. 

“... Were you really thinkin’ ‘bout Uncle Jess earlier?” Sitting up after a considerable time spent horizontal, Merle reached over to give Daryl a nudge for his attention. Unresponsive, Daryl stayed flat when he was poked in his upper arm, staring blankly at the canopy. 

“What makes you think I weren’t?” He asked, unsure why his sibling was still hung up on that. 

“‘Cause you don’ much care for your roots. It ain’t like you.”

Well, Merle wasn’t wrong. He might just know his brother better than he let on. Simply, Daryl didn’t spend his mental energy on his family, not even on Uncle Jess, because he didn’t want to. Good and bad intermingled into a cloudy mess where he couldn’t just focus on the good. And he wasn’t willing to risk reliving the bad.

“... Was thinkin’ ‘bout a friend of mine.” He finally revealed. He hoped Merle wouldn’t catch on to his hesitancy to let him in on anything, because he’d make a big thing out of it.

“Didn’t know you had friends.” 

_“Friend._ Singular form.”

“Sounds more lifelike already.” Merle smirked, wincing immediately after when he tugged his scabbing lip. 

Seeing his pain… it made Daryl feel a little better about his own. He managed the smallest, wryest smile at the very corner of his mouth, barely demanding for his facial muscles to do as little as twitch. 

“What would you know about realism? You spent every bit of your life ‘til now on psychedelics.” 

“Don’ act like you ain’t never been buzzed out your mind.” Merle was quick to point out what he perceived as hypocrisy, yet seemed to completely forget the difference between experimentation and addiction. 

That time, Daryl didn’t reply, rolling over onto his hands-and-knees then laboriously pushing himself to his feet. They had to press on before they lost any more daylight, the growlers didn’t come to play once darkness rested still.

He helped Merle up and together, they returned to collect their discarded equipment, treating their brawl as meaningless and forgotten. They would never talk about this again, never mind their bruises and hurt joints would be remembering their quarrel for the foreseeable future.

“Will’s probably long dead.” Rather off tone, Merle said, breaking character to pick up the fallen crossbow and offer it to its rightful owner.

“‘Case that’s comfortin’ to you or some shit.” 

Daryl accepted his weapon and shouldered it, adjusting the strap over his tender muscles in the least painful way he could accomplish. He gathered the rest of their things and started back up the path, ignoring the stabs of physical anguish ignited by each step. They busted each other up fiercely, their mother must be tossing in her grave. Though amidst a zombie apocalypse, hopefully that wasn’t literal. 

“It is.” 

Like music to his ears.

* * *

Carol must’ve wandered miles into the Georgia wilderness when she realised that she had no destination or the faintest, most general idea where she was. That was no surprise, however, as she felt she hadn’t had one in a very long time.

Instead of panicking or caring ever-so-slightly that her bearings were gone like ships in the night, she took in the beautiful autumn scenery. The oranges and yellows splashed across the forest’s canvas, against the cold looking trees and rocks, the bright beautiful colours there only to hide the grimness beneath.

How _metaphorical._

Carol thought of it as nature applying her last coat of makeup before she lost the resolve to pretty herself up for the world to see. After that, wrinkles and imperfections aside, she didn’t care how she looked, not when there was everything else for her to worry about. Why should she burden herself further by how she was seen? 

Just more add-ons to an already impossible way to live.

That being said, perhaps she wasn’t wandering as aimlessly as she let on. She wasn’t convinced the man she met earlier - _Will,_ hadn’t followed her. She couldn’t think of a reason he would, given how he had the chance to attack her then and there, but trust wasn’t what kept her alive this long nor was it a habit she planned on adopting. 

Something about Will didn’t sit right with her. Whether or not she was able to name it was irrelevant, she just knew that he was off somehow. Maybe he’d wracked up an entire tier list of felonies, perhaps he was never caught, or maybe his dark side went no further than questionable tastes in porn. 

Still Carol didn’t like him, whatever he’d done. 

So to assure she wouldn’t have to endure his presence again, she took the scenic route, following the twists and turns of the landscape, sometimes going against it to throw off any potential tails trying to attach themselves to her. Daryl taught her the ins-and-outs of covering her tracks quickly and efficiently, he would be proud if he saw that she’d taken his advice and found a pine tree branch, dragging it behind her to comb the leaves back into place.

If anyone set out to follow her, they wouldn’t have much luck. 

As well as that creepy old man, she kept an eye out for walkers traipsing about these areas. She wouldn’t be caught off guard and eaten quickly thereafter, not that her reasons for living were established, maintaining death as a fairly impartial concept to her. 

Sofia was dead, Daryl gone, and the remainder of her friends out of her grasp, she wasn’t living for people anymore and living for just herself was difficult to gather motivation towards.

Still, she got by the best that she could. All things considered. It was certainly easier with nobody around to cry for her should she fall. When her time came, she didn’t want anyone to know.

Silent say for the soft padding of her feet on the forest floor, she made her way through the wilderness with nothing and no one other than her thoughts for company. After months of keeping at this, thinking in detail turned maddening, it was her attempt to focus on unimportant things such as the blinding white circle she kept drawing in her mind, over and over.

She was looping the tailends back around to meet each other for the umpteenth time, when she heard the unmistakable sound of voices conversing. She paused her trek to fall dead in her step, frowning towards the noise carried to her by the wind. It couldn’t be far from her. Was she really going to encounter two new people in one week? It wasn’t just unusual, it was downright unheard of. 

Precautions she should have taken with Will were in order now, lest she repeat her previous mistake. 

She found herself cover behind a tall pine tree and settled to listen, unwilling to take the chance she would be heard moving around when so close to strangers and the potential danger that came with them. Crouching under the safety of the tree, she laid a hand on the ground and cocked her head towards the voices, surprised to be picking up on little traces of an accent she remembered from somewhere.

“ - _Man,_ you ain’t got no damn idea where Uncle Jess’ shack is, d’you?” A distinctly southern, distinctly _familiar_ voice snapped, clearly irritated. He didn’t raise his pitch to a full yell but performed his equivalent of one, that gruff exclamative resonance of his. 

_“Direction,_ it’s all relative, little brother.” Someone replied in a far more nonchalant, almost playful tone of voice.

“Nah it ain’t when you got us walkin’ ‘round in circles!” 

The creases upon Carol’s face increased significantly, taking only seconds to recognise what she was hearing. Her heart dropped somewhere into the pit of her belly. A deep, overwhelming sense of dread began to creep in through her skin pores and sink hooks into her entire nervous system. _Daryl?_

It couldn’t be. The coincidence was astronomical - _impossible,_ but no one she’d ever met had a voice remotely similar to his. 

Tentative, uneasy, she rose just enough to get a shrouded line of sight to them, taking care to remain hidden while she did. She saw a crossbow and long dark hair, tan skin scarred aplenty, and a leather vest unfurling angel wings across the back of it. 

It was him.

Shellshocked, she stared at his sleeveless arms longer than she intended to, the corners of her eyes pricking at the same pace as the lump in her throat formed. That was _definitely_ Daryl Dixon, in all his grimy and dirt-covered redneck brilliance. 

“ - It’s ‘round here someplace! We’ll find it if you was a little patient.” The older of the Dixons wore an obnoxious smirk as he argued, emphasised by the scab holding together a nasty cut on his lip. They were both worse for wear, whatever fight they’d been involved in must’ve been a sheer _battle,_ if their wounds were anything to go by. 

_“Patient?_ Merle, we’s lost ‘cause of you!” 

_“Lost?”_ Merle arched his brows, leaning away to add emphasis to his already dramatic body language. He was every bit as annoying as Carol remembered, if not more so. Just the sight of him garnered a scoff. “The _great and mighty_ Daryl Dixon? Lord take my eyes!” 

Daryl scowled behind his veil of tangled hair, baring his teeth ever so slightly, the shadow that fell across his face hiding parts of it. That aside, he looked furious when he waved an agitated hand at his sibling.

“If the Lord don’t then I will - d’you _want_ me to beat your ass again?”

Her vision was blurring by now. Carol swallowed a mouthful of painful emotions like razors gliding down her esophagus. A tear rolled midway to her jaw, she pushed away from the tree with a shaking hand against its trunk, hardly remembering the caution she originally prioritised. She needed to get away fast and far, willing to do anything to put distance between herself and Daryl. She couldn’t let him see her, not right now. He wouldn’t understand and she couldn’t explain it to him.

But as fated as their encounter was to begin with, it seemed that something beyond Carol wouldn’t let her get away that easily. She moved so quickly, the suddenness was whiplash against an otherwise serene woodland which the Dixons would have been blind not to see. Abandoning the argument, Daryl’s head snapped towards the motion, swinging his crossbow in line with the rustle in the foliage and getting the source of it in his sights within seconds. 

And then he froze. 

He saw fresh, living skin flush from emotion. Small hands and a petite figure. The green coat contrasting sleek silver hair caught his attention the most, however, as he’d seen it in only one place before. And he laid eyes upon her for mere seconds before she took off running, as fast as she would have if he were a herd of walkers. But he wasn’t, he was her friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have any thoughts or opinions to share, please do!


End file.
